


Lines

by RejectsCanon



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Burn Recorvery Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Kinda?, Light Angst, Lots of that, Missing Scenes, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pining, how could i forget pining, other people are mentioned but not important enough to tag i don't think, the angst definitely lessens as the fic progresses though, there we go, theres so much of it, they love each other but are angsty about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RejectsCanon/pseuds/RejectsCanon
Summary: Riza Hawkeye lives her life through lines.She learns, very quickly, that life is a series of lines that could and couldn’t be crossed. With her mother she had few lines that she couldn’t cross, allowing nearly full access to whatever Riza’s young heart desired. With her father, there was a minefield of lines that she wouldn’t dare even come close to, even before her mother’s death.Then, she met Roy Mustang, and living her life through lines became a challenge.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So, I jumped on the bandwagon of watching fmab for the first time during quarantine and wow was it just amazing. I love royai with my entire heart so this happened instead of me working on any of my other wips. Disclaimer: I've only watched Brotherhood, and I've started but haven't finished reading the manga yet, so make of that what you will. 
> 
> Not beta-read, so any mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Riza Hawkeye lives her life through lines. 

She learns, very quickly, that life is a series of lines that could and couldn’t be crossed. With her mother she had few lines that she couldn’t cross, allowing nearly full access to whatever Riza’s young heart desired. Her mother, kind and gentle, taught Riza that lines were boundaries to be respected, that people created them to help themselves feel safe. That lines could change over time and depending on the person. She had few lines that Riza couldn’t cross, and Riza never wanted to cross the ones that she couldn’t. Her mother’s lines were about doing dangerous things, about saying or accepting cruel things. From her mother, Riza learned to set her own boundaries of what she would expect and accept for herself.

With her father, there was a minefield of lines that she wouldn’t dare even come close to, even before her mother’s death. There were always lines about how Riza was expected to behave. What she was expected to know. Lines with her father were always about actions, whereas her mothers’ had been more about feelings. The only hard line that Riza knew her father to have about feelings was that feelings were troublesome, and should thus be kept tightly hidden. Never expressed. 

There were more lines after her mother’s death. Lines about mentioning mother. Lines about alchemy. Lines about interrupting his research. A million little lines that Riza learned to navigate and not cross. From her father, Riza learned to draw lines about how her feelings were expressed, what feelings she allowed herself to acknowledge, and how to keep her feelings protected through her actions. 

Then, she met Roy Mustang, and living her life through lines became a challenge. 

At first, Riza drew herself so many lines with Roy, afraid to incur her fathers’ wrath by simply looking at the other teenager. So, she made lines for herself to stay behind, to not cross, to keep her life in order. She would not seek him out unless instructed to by her father. She would not call him by his given name, only by Mr. Mustang. She would not indulge in frivolous conversation with him. She would be polite, respectful, and quick, and that would be the extent of their interactions. After all, she was his teacher’s daughter who took care of the house and knew nothing of alchemy. He was her father’s student, his protege that may one day inherit his life’s research. They had no business being around each other, and Riza sought to keep it that way.

Of course, she hadn’t accounted for Roy’s personality when she created those lines. 

Roy turned out to be a sociable young man who took any opportunity presented to try and converse with her. It seemed to Riza that he enjoyed being a social butterfly as much as he coveted learning about alchemy. He would spend his free time from her father wandering the house, making small conversation with her, and somehow never becoming tired of her short or curt answers. 

So Riza reassessed where her lines with Roy Mustang had to be. 

Her father never berated her for interacting with him. Either he didn’t know or didn’t care enough to be bothered as long as Roy kept to his studies. So she felt secure enough to at the very least return his conversation in a friendlier tone. She’s toeing the line she set for herself, far closer to a line than she’s ever let herself be before. It’s nerve-wracking and frightening, but also exhilarating in a completely new way. She tells herself that as long as she is not the one starting the conversations that she’s not crossing any lines. She’s returning conversation, she’s being polite, that’s all. It would be incredibly rude of her to ignore her fathers’ student, to just brush him off. She’s just being polite, is all.

But talking to Roy Mustang is… fun.

Riza has not had much fun in her life. Fun is frivolous, it’s unnecessary. A waste of time, a waste of energy, a waste of resources. To spend time having fun is time that could have been spent doing something useful, something meaningful. Her father frowns upon the concept of ‘fun’ as much as he frowns on Riza’s inability to perform alchemy. Fun is a line that she has rarely allowed herself to cross, and never with something that her father could so easily take away from her.

But Roy Mustang is clever,  _ so  _ clever it sometimes makes Riza’s head spin. He engages her in conversation as an equal and asks her opinion on things she’s never thought before to have an opinion on. He’s kind, in a way that Riza believes must have come from a caring upbringing. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard him utter so much as an unflattering word, let alone a curse, even when his studies lead him to a dead end. Roy Mustang is, dare she say, charming in a sort of boyish way. He’s a city boy through and through and his extravagant language and mannerisms often lead to Riza feeling much more charmed than she should. He’s a flirt, like one of the roguish rakes from one of her mothers’ old romance novels. Sometimes that throws Riza for a loop, watching him sweet talk and wink and try to make her swoon, only for her to meet him head-on with a blank stare. 

She doesn’t necessarily think he’s serious, she’s seen him act the same with the old woman shop-keeper as well, but it doesn’t make her heart race any slower when he turns that charming smile her way. 

Talking to Roy Mustang is fun, and Riza is loathed to give it up, but she is so afraid of crossing lines between them. Lines she drew to keep her distance, to not get attached to him, to protect herself. Because if she allows herself to cross those lines, to become attached, it will just hurt all the more when he inevitably leaves. So, Riza keeps to her lines, no matter how desperately she wants to leap across them. 

Like right now, for instance. 

The sky had been threatening rain for the past few days, light gray clouds making way for dark gray, rolling through the sky until any trace of sunshine was gone. The rain had finally broken free around midday, coming down in torrents. They didn’t get many storms where they were, and it seemed as if this one, in particular, was there to make up for the months of missing rain. 

Her father had long since retired to his room for the day, citing that learning alchemy, especially flame alchemy, was futile in the rain. Roy had wisely, and rather sheepishly, she thought, asked her permission to stay in the house until the storm became less of a deluge. Riza had acquiesced despite her reservations on what kind of lines this may be crossing, not too keen to discover what kind of trouble Roy could get himself into during a rainstorm like this. 

Which led them to where they were now, Riza in the kitchen, surrounded by as many candles as she could find, cobbling together a soup simmering away on an open flame. Roy was in the kitchen with her, reading an alchemy text by the candlelight, notebook handy to make his annotations. 

Riza didn’t miss how his eyes would wander over to her more and more as time passed, the only sound between them Riza's rhythmic chopping and the pounding of rain on the roof. 

“Would you like some help with anything, Miss Hawkeye?” Roy’s voice broke through the comforting silence, startling Riza into looking up at him. 

The image of Roy Mustang lit by the small flickering flames of candles, eyes deep and glowing, feeling as if he could see into her very soul with those eyes, is one that Riza is sure will haunt her dreams. 

“No, thank you,” Riza responds, a beat too late. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Mustang.”

“It would be no trouble at all to help you in any way I could,” Roy says, already pushing away his book and notes. “Besides, I think I’ve earned a break, don’t you?”

Riza resolutely stared back down at the vegetables she was chopping, refusing to meet his gaze. “And if I did ask for your help, how would that constitute as a break, exactly? Putting one task on hold to do another is hardly a break.”

“Well, that’s easy,” Riza can  _ hear  _ the grin taking over his face, and she strengthens her resolve to not look up. It would be a shame if she cut herself and had to toss the last of the carrots because of some blood. “Putting the alchemy aside for a bit to spend some time working with you is certainly a break. After all, you’re much more personable than a dense text written by a middle-aged man."

“I’m so glad I meet your rigorous standards for conversation, Mr. Mustang,” Riza says, voice dry as she can make it.

“You meet and surpass them every time, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy says, voice soft and full of far too much feeling and honesty for Riza to handle. This is a line that she will not cross. Cannot cross. These bouts of feeling that he expresses that Riza cannot return, cannot express, cannot indulge in. 

But  _ god  _ does she want to.

Roy Mustang makes her want too much. Makes her want more for her life, makes her believe she  _ can _ . It’s not fair. It’s too much and never enough and there are  _ lines  _ here. Lines that she can’t dare cross, lines she can’t even let herself  _ imagine  _ crossing. Not even in the dead of night, when a hearts’ deepest desires are meant to be whispered to life. She  _ wants  _ but she  _ can’t _ . 

But then he goes and says something like that, and Riza wants to pretend that her lines have never existed. 

She needs to pull back, needs to regroup. She has to reaffirm that her lines are still there, still intact and untouched. Riza glances over the ingredients she has spread around her. She’s in the process of putting together a soup, something simple that can simmer for the rest of the day while the rain barrels on, and will give them some much-needed warmth when eaten. There’s not much to it, just vegetables and some meat, but it won’t be finished for a few more hours at least with how slowly it came to heat. She really should prepare them something to tide them over until then, lest her father come out fuming. 

“If you’d really like to be helpful,” Riza starts slowly, watching with vague amusement as Roy perks up. She almost feels bad for what she’s about to ask of him. “I could use some meat and cheese from the icebox. Maybe some more vegetables as well.”

“Of course,” Roy agrees easily, standing from his chair. “And where would I find the icebox?”

“Outside,” Riza says plainly. Roy’s face falls. “Around the back of the house, against one of the walls.” 

Thunder roars in the silence between them. The candles flicker in time with the howls of wind. 

“Of course it is,” Roy sighs. “I suppose I shall brave the storm, but just for you, Miss Hawkeye.”

“You’re hardly going off to war,” Riza says, watching him pull on his coat and hat as if it will make much of a difference once he’s outside. “And you’ll only be out for a moment. Go out through the side door here and the box is a few feet from the door.”

“I may never recover,” Roy continues as if he hadn’t heard her. “But alas, who am I to deny a request so humbly made? I will bear the storm with honor.”

“I’m sure you will, now get going,” Riza says, trying to hide the smile on her face.

“As you wish,” Roy says, not trying to hide his own smile.

Turning away from him, Riza leaves the kitchen and heads down the hall. She hears the side door open and the wind howls louder as it’s let into the house. Riza hurries along to one of the hall closets, pulling out a stack of towels and heading back to the kitchen. 

When Roy comes back into the house just a minute or two later, arms laden with the things she asked for, Riza meets him with the stack of towels and a small smile. Roy looks at her in surprise for a moment, water dripping into his face. His coat is soaked through, and his hat has arguably made his head wetter than it would have been otherwise. There’s a puddle dripping on the floor under his feet, and the cold is coming off him in waves. A few of the candles had blown out with the entrance of the wind to the kitchen, and the sparse glow highlights the contours of Roy’s face. Riza thinks he looks like a dream.

Without a word, she trades the foods in his arms for the towels, stepping back to let him dry himself as he sees fit. After she sets her things on one of the counters, she heads off towards the front room to find a dry coat. The last thing she wants to be responsible for is giving her fathers’ student a cold. 

Riza returns to find Roy hasn’t moved other than to place a towel at his feet to soak up the puddle beneath him. His soaked coat and hat are clutched in one hand as the other uses another towel to rub through his hair.

“Here,” Riza says, bringing his attention to her. There’s something in his eyes, something Riza doesn’t have a name for but  _ feels  _ that tries to steal her breath. She reaches to take the wet clothes from him and replace them with the dry coat. “I’ll go hang these by the fire to dry.”

Their hands meet as Riza reaches towards him, and Riza feels her breath catch and has just enough presence of mind to hope that it wasn’t audible or obvious. This is the first time she’s so much as brushed against him after months of constant interaction. She hadn’t even shaken his hand when he was introduced to her, seeing as her father had been right there and all too eager to whisk Roy away. His hands are cold and a bit damp, and as they exchange the clothes they’re holding Roy reaches out, his fingers catching hers. 

Riza looks up into his eyes, those eyes that are so deep they’re almost black, eyes that Riza swears she could lose time staring into. Eyes that are looking into hers with emotions that Riza can’t name, is afraid to try to put a name to. There are lines being crossed here, by both of them, with just this simple act. Lines that Riza had meticulously placed, all blown away like dust in the wind. 

“Riza,” Roy breathes out like a sigh, like a prayer. Riza gasps, and she knows it’s audible but can’t bring herself to care. “Riza--” he begins again, but then stops himself, complete with a small shake of his head. 

“Thank you,” he says instead. “for the towels. And the coat.”

Riza wants nothing more at that moment than to know what he stopped himself from saying. She wants both nothing more and nothing less. 

“You’re welcome,” she says, just as softly as him, and then after a moment’s hesitation. “Roy.” Riza gets to revel in the way that she can hear his breath catch as well. She’s not the only one who  _ wants  _ here.

And just like that, a handful of Riza’s carefully crafted lines when it comes to Roy Mustang have been crossed. She can’t find it within herself to be upset. 

* * *

Roy Mustang has learned to live his life by lines.

By learning which lines exist where, why they exist, if they could be nudged or crossed, or if they should be kept to without question. He has been given many lines from his aunt and the girls. Those lines he never crosses, never even entertains the thought of so much as toeing them. There are lines in school, lines in society, and far more lines and rules and regulations than city life should require, honestly. 

Roy has never been one to cross a person's lines intentionally, and never maliciously. He knows that people draw lines for a reason, that lines are boundaries that people don’t want to be crossed, and that he needs to respect them. When it comes to lines drawn by people, lines drawn by an arbitrary authority notwithstanding, Roy has always done his best to keep to those lines, whether they are explicit or not.

Roy is good at reading people, it’s one of the things he’s most confident about. Growing up with his aunt and the girls has taught him a lot about people and body language and intentions. Roy is good at figuring out people’s lines, what makes people uncomfortable, what’s pushing and what’s not. Roy has never intentionally crossed someone’s lines before and he expects that same sentiment back. 

Roy has never pushed, never prodded, never toed a line. He’s never wanted to. 

And then he meets Riza Hawkeye, and oh, does he  _ want _ . 

Riza Hawkeye, the daughter of his teacher, by all means a shy and closed-off girl until Roy gets to know her more. Riza Hawkeye is an ember just biding its time before it becomes a magnificent flame. She has all the potential in the world at her fingertips, has the gumption to make the world bow to her will. Roy may be the one with the grandiose dreams and aspirations, but Roy has no doubt that should Riza simply desire it, she would meet any goal she set for herself. And Roy may often be accused of having a flowery and lavish vernacular, but he becomes speechless when thinking of how entirely Riza Hawkeye has taken over his heart. 

Roy wants with Riza Hawkeye, but he won’t dare. Would never dare. Roy is good at reading people and for him, Riza is an open book. He sees where she has drawn her lines clearly. He won’t dare push them, won’t dare cross them, no matter how badly he wants to. Not when doing so would go against all that he stands for, would push her away, would destroy any trust that has been painstakingly built between them. 

Roy sees that Riza has drawn her lines clearly when it comes to him. It’s in the way she speaks to him, the way she looks at him, the way she holds herself around him. She keeps her voice as neutral as possible, only slipping when Roy has startled some humor out of her. She has an uninterested facade that would put a politician to shame, and often uses that look when Roy is being particularly exuberant in an attempt to curb him. Only occasionally does she slip and let the amusement and fondness play across her face. Roy covets those moments like precious jewels. Her body language with him is often closed off and guarded, limbs held tight to her body, coiled and ready to spring should Roy get too close. This is perhaps the biggest line between them. Everything else, finding humor or indulging in conversation, can all be excused and reasoned away. But touch is different. If they cross that line there is no more pretending between them.

Riza has drawn her lines clearly, and although Roy thinks he sees the want from her as well, he won’t dare cross the lines just to see. 

Roy has his own lines when it comes to Riza as well. Has to, if he wants to ever meet his goals. He knows that some of their lines are the same, which is just as well. If they both have them that just means they really  _ should  _ stick to them. There are lines between them, lines that should be kept out of respect for each other, out of propriety, out of expectation. Lines like how often they interact, how they interact, how they should treat each other. Lines like what they should allow themselves to feel for each other, what they should show out in the open. 

Roy has personal reasons for his lines in addition to the ones society expects of them. He’s sure Riza does as well, though he won’t pretend to know the extent of her personal reasons. Riza is the closest thing that Roy has to a friend here in the country, so far away from his home. He is loathed to lose that companionship, wants to keep it for as long as he can. Roy knows it’s dangerous to become too close, to become attached. The last thing Roy ever wants to do is hurt her. Hurting Riza Hawkeye, in any meaning of the word hurt, is a line that Roy will avoid crossing for as long as humanly possible. 

And he knows, he knows that befriending her like this, becoming close like this, will only end up hurting her eventually. Because he will end up leaving this isolated countryside. Will leave her here alone with a father that does not respect her, in a town that treats her like a ghost. There has never been another option for Roy. As much as he wants with Riza Hawkeye, he has too much to do, too big of aspirations, to stay here for longer than he needs to. He is sure Riza knows it as well, that this is why she has tried so hard to keep these lines between them. To keep herself from hurting later on. 

Roy entertains, very briefly, and only in the dead of night where a hearts’ deepest desires can be whispered to life, the thought of asking Riza to come with him, to follow him. He knows it’s not realistic, knows it crosses all of her lines. Lines she has put down for him and for herself. Knows she is far too selfless to ever take for herself. The desire only ever comes in flashes, in hot waves in his chest that burn and ache while they are there. They pass, they always do, and in the morning Roy goes back to their lines, back to their lives that are enough and not. 

And then. 

And then Roy leaves, hurting her, but not as badly as he could have. She will survive this hurt, he knows. And then Roy comes back, tries one last time to get the flame alchemy research from her father, from his master, but is denied. And then Berthold Hawkeye, Roy’s alchemy master, Riza’s father and tormentor in turn, dies. He dies, and once the initial panic has subsided, Roy’s first thought is  _ what lines are there now? How have they changed?  _

Berthold Hawkeye dies, and Roy entertains once again, fiercely and desperately, the thought of asking Riza to follow him. To come with him.  _ Come with me, follow me, stay with me. There doesn’t have to be any more lines. Let me cross the lines until there are none left.  _ He wants so bad it hurts, it aches, it burns. 

And just like always, that desire passes. It passes slower this time, but it passes all the same. Roy is entering the military, he’s going to be sent off to war. He knows the only way to achieve his goals, to change what he wants to change, is to do it from the inside. He won’t accomplish anything by standing aside. He won’t put Riza through the pain of having a military lover. Won’t leave her wanting and waiting for a man that may never come home. He’s already hurt her, he won’t add insult to injury. 

“If you ever need anything,” he says to her in front of her father’s grave, just the two of them. “Anything at all, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I’ll do all that I can to help you.”  _ Let me stay in your life. I can’t give you all that you deserve, but let the lines stay between us.  _

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she responds. Her voice has changed in the time he’s been away. That or the loss of her father has changed her in more ways than one. “You’ve done more than enough for me already, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

“I don’t think I could ever do enough for you,” Roy says before he can stop himself. He’s toeing a line here, a dangerous game to play, but one that he and Riza are well versed in by now. “But I will continue to try if you’ll allow it.”

And then. And then Riza crosses all kinds of lines by varying degrees, lines of her own, lines of her fathers’, to show Roy the completed array on her back. The array that has been etched into her skin like paper, has been branded onto her by her own father. Roy wants to be filled with anger and indignation at the idea of that man hurting her like this. He is angry, he can see the way that Riza is holding herself, as if trying to make herself smaller. Riza Hawkeye is bared in front of him, lines being crossed, secrets being spilled. Her back is bare and open to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. So trusting yet so afraid. Of what, Roy has ideas but can’t be certain. 

Roy reaches towards her, hand hovering just over a shoulder blade, just over a line of red as dark as blood. It feels wrong, all of this feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be looking at her like this, shouldn’t be almost touching her. There are lines being crossed here, and Roy is short of breath just thinking about them. Roy feels dirty just looking at the tattoo, he can’t imagine how Riza feels with it on her body. 

“Can I…” Roy trails off, not sure how he was going to finish that sentence. Can he really look like this? Can he be given this trust? Can he touch? Can he cross these lines?

Riza looks over her shoulder and meets his eyes. Roy doesn’t know what his face is telling her, he feels as if he’s gaping like an idiot. The fire in Riza’s eyes has dimmed. Before it was strong and steady, just waiting to fully engulf anyone who was let close enough. Now, it is small and simmering, a flickering heartbeat. Still there, but weaker. 

Whatever Riza sees in his face resolves something in hers. Her face tightens in a way that speaks of determination, the fire in her eyes flaring strongly for just a moment, just long enough to steal Roy’s breath completely. 

“Yes,” she says, and turns away, once more fully exposing her back to him. 

Right. Roy may not always trust in himself, especially where she is concerned, but Roy will always trust Riza. 

Roy removes the gloves he had on to fight against the cold, tucking them securely in the pocket of his coat. Gently, oh so gently, Roy places a hand on Riza’s shoulder blade. His fingers trace the lines of the tattoo, following the shapes and curves of ink along her skin. Riza shivers as he traces a spot along her waist, and Roy allows himself one painfully sharp second of  _ want _ before he tucks that away as well. His hand ends its wandering, resting on her lower back, feeling it shift with every breath. Her skin is warm against his hand, a comforting feeling in stark contrast to the burning red ink covering her.

“I will use this for good,” Roy says into scant space between them. They are so close to each other, inches between them, but Roy still feels so far from her. “I promise.”

“I hope you will,” Riza’s back shifts as she takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Roy’s hand moves with her. “I trust you to use it well.”

And just like that, old lines have been crossed between them while new ones have been created. The lines between them proving to be ever-changing, always blurring and shifting and evolving.

* * *

The first time Riza sees Roy Mustang, Lieutenant Colonel, State Alchemist, and war hero, on the battlefield, it is through the scope of her rifle. 

The Flame Alchemist is covered in dirt and soot in equal measure. Black flecks adorning his overcoat and uniform, evidence of the fires that were burning just hours before. His gloves are on tight, and Riza watches through the scope of her gun as he pulls them tighter onto his hands. The array on his gloves is stitched in blood red. The array her father put his life into creating, the array that is permanently inked onto her back, the array she crossed a hundred lines to trust him with. Riza can’t help but think the color of the thread fits perfectly with what that array has caused. Roy Mustang pulls that array tighter onto his hands, as if afraid that the gloves will disappear if he doesn’t. Those hands have touched her so gently before, so reverently, and now they are the cause of thousands of deaths. 

Riza crossed so many of her lines to give him that array. She agonized over it for weeks, she changed her mind a million times before deciding to give it to him. She crossed her lines, and she trusted him, and this is what her weakness has wrought. 

She is just as much to blame for the blood on his hands as he is. 

Riza watches him as he continues on his way to the camp set up for the soldiers. Watches him get a drink, get a meal, sit down next to a man with glasses, and seem to relax. 

Riza almost shoots him three different times. Her trigger finger itches with the need to press down.

How many of his own lines is Roy crossing to be here? Is he crossing any? Does he care? Does he know how many lives he has taken with that alchemy of his? Does he remember the promise he made her a lifetime ago to use flame alchemy for good? Does he think this is good? Or did he just say those things so that Riza would give him what he wanted? Did she actually know him at all?

Riza knows exactly how many of her own lines she has crossed to be here. She knows exactly how much she cares about the lines she is crossing. She feels it inside her, tearing her apart bit by bit. She falls asleep and wakes with her stomach turning and the echoes of screams in her ears. Her hands form rough calluses from her guns. Her fingers ache from pulling a trigger for hours on end. Every day a new part of her stops feeling, becoming closed off in a desperate bid of self-preservation. Her body feels hollow, the only thing keeping her standing is knowing that one day this will all be over. 

Riza knows exactly how many lives she has taken since being deployed here. She wants to stop keeping track, she tells herself she needs to know. She is terrified of the day that she honestly loses count. She hopes that day never comes but as each day passes, she knows it is only a matter of time before it happens.

She makes a new line for herself, right then and there, that she will not see Roy Mustang face to face here on this battlefield. She will not go to him, she will not make herself look into his eyes and see the differences. She cannot be sure that she will let him live if she sees the changes in him up close and personal. Farther away like this, through her scope, it is easier to let him live. She can tell herself that what she sees in his face is distorted, even though it has never failed her before. If she sees his face in person rather than through a piece of glass, she is sure she will kill him the next chance she gets. So, she creates for herself a new line for Roy Mustang. 

Riza watches Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang through her scope for the rest of the night. When she goes back to her tent, she does not sleep. In the morning she goes to her station and takes more lives. She keeps count. She doesn’t know if there are more lines like this she can keep crossing. 

Riza watches him sometimes. She shouldn’t, it only confuses and angers and hurts her. She wants to shoot him, she wants to hate him, she wants to regret ever meeting him. She wants to go to him, she wants to take those cursed gloves from him. She wants to rage and scream and cry because her life was never supposed to be like this. She was supposed to live a quiet life in the country with a husband, a kid, and maybe a dog. A nice, normal life that she could learn to enjoy. But then Roy Mustang has swept in, in all his grandeur, and made Riza  _ want _ . 

Riza watches him for months, never once getting close to him. She watches, and she sees him snap his fingers and enact destruction that should not be possible. Buildings and streets and entire towns razed to the ground with his flames. She watches, and she sees his face grow tighter and angrier as each day passes. His usually jovial and kind face hardened into something that feels like hate. She watches, and she sees his already tall walls grow impossibly taller as he closes off more parts of himself. His shoulders seem to be permanently hunched, jaw always clenched, eyes constantly narrowed.

She watches, and sees the moments of sadness and regret. His eyes welling with tears that never fall, face crumbling in despair, staring at his hands as if they belong to someone else. She watches, and she sees him set fire to buildings as the fire in his eyes dims. He doesn’t cry anymore. His face will sometimes go through the motions, scrunching up and trembling, but the tears never come. She watches, and she sees flashes of the boy she thought she knew, and she hopes beyond hope that he still exists beneath all the blood and the nightmares and the flames. Sometimes, his face will take on a look of such severe determination that Riza can  _ feel it _ from her perch so far away. A brightly burning fire so different from the one that comes from his hands, because this one has been there all along. 

She watches, and she sees him glare at the Fuhrer, openly and honestly and full of disgust. Glaring at the Fuhrer, the king, without a hint of fear.

That is what tips her hand to seek him out, once again crossing a line she’s set for him. 

_ Well, that line didn’t last long _ , she thinks as she climbs her way to him, the first flash of humor she’s felt in what feels like an age. She goes to him, and she sees the pain and regret that flashes through him when his eyes meet hers. They sit and they talk, and Riza lets out some of her pain, crossing another line in hopes of some answers. Roy gives them to her, but they’re not the answers that she wants. They just bring more pain, even though they are honest. Riza has never given him empty platitudes, and Roy will not give them to her. 

Talking to him does give Riza something worthwhile, at least. She hears in his words and sees in his eyes his determination and conviction to enact his dreams. Roy Mustang still speaks with the same confidence as before, if not shrouded in a touch of bitterness. Riza would go as far as to think that Roy is more determined now than before. He’s rougher around the edges, that is certain. His anger is palpable, a near physical thing. He hides it well when others are around, but Riza can see it there, simmering at the surface. His idealism has shifted, changed just as hers has. They have seen horrors that should be unimaginable, and it has changed them. But it has also strengthened their decision to continue on. 

There comes a night, months later, when the two of them have somehow found themselves alone, sitting by a dimming fire. There hasn’t yet been a time like this, just the two of them. Here in the military, there are so many rules to follow, so many lines to stay behind. Roy Mustang is a Lieutenant Colonel, a State Alchemist. Riza is fresh out of the academy, and while she has made something of a name for herself, she still holds no real power. Lieutenant Colonel Mustang is her superior, a commanding officer in every sense. It would not do well for the two of them to spend time alone together, even with no threat of being caught. It crosses lines in the military, lines that neither of them can afford to cross.

There have always been lines between them, but before they have been arbitrary, easily altered and changed. The lines between them now are different, straightforward in their simplicity, complicated in the feelings attached to them. 

This night has found them staying out late with the troops currently stationed here. The war is coming to an end, they can all feel it. Little by little, people are being sent out into the field less, or in some cases, sent home early. The energy around the camp has a palpable sense of joy as everyone from cadets to generals revel in the sense of normalcy, however false it may be. 

Several groups have broken off to indulge in some good old-fashioned shenanigans, some have turned in early for the evening, taking this chance to catch up on much-needed rest. Roy and Riza have settled near the edge of the campsite next to a dying fire. They are still in clear sight of everyone else, a group of tipsy men trying to remember the steps of a foxtrot not too far to their right. They are alone together by this fire, and that is certainly a line that should not be crossed, but they are seated across from each other and not attempting to hide away. They are toeing lines, certainly, but they have not crossed any. 

When Riza speaks to him, whispering into the night, she is staring up at the sky rather than at him. She doesn’t want to look at him through the flames, afraid it will remind her of times long since passed. Riza has found that here in the deserts of Ishval the night sky is almost always clear and cool. The stars are bright, beautiful, and shining. It’s haunting, this beauty in a place that has seen so much horror. Here, Riza can pick out every constellation she knows, courtesy of her mother’s teaching. This night sky gives off the illusion of peace, something Riza has not known since Roy left her the first time. Riza feels like she is crossing some unseen line by gazing at this sky. 

“Is this worth it?” she asks him, speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the crackling of firewood. 

Riza can feel his eyes on her, staring at her. This too feels like a line she is crossing. She knows it’s not exactly fair to ask him this, not when she is here as well. Not when she has taken more lives than she cares to count. They have both performed what feels terribly like evil here. But in the same vein, she has to know. She has to know if Roy Mustang, with his grand dreams for the future and ambition to change how Amestris is run, thinks that all this pain and suffering is worth it. If these are lines he is willing to cross. 

“I don’t know,” he answers her, his words flowing across her like smoke. She can hear the pain in those words, and as much as they hurt, they are honest. 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he continues, breathing life to treasonous words. “It doesn’t feel like it, but it has to be. I have to make it worth it.”

“Do you think you can?”

“Yes.”

Said with so much conviction, so much feeling. That single word tears through Riza, hits her in the chest and wrestles her breath. Her eyes are torn from the night sky to look at him, into his deep-sea eyes. 

There is a fire in his eyes. Burning bright and fierce. Roy has always reminded her of fire; strong and passionate and so bright. Can burn steady as long as it’s taken care of, but can burn away into nothing if pushed too far. That determination like steel, a resoluteness and willpower more defined than she has seen from any high-ranking general. There is so much there that just looking at him, Riza feels about to burst open. 

Yes. He will do this. He will tear down all that they know and build it anew. Cross any line he needs to and draw new ones. Starker and clearer and more meaningful than ever before.

And Riza will be right beside him while he does. There is nothing, no rule, no line, that will keep her from helping achieve this. From standing beside him.  _ We can’t cross these lines, but we can still do this. We can stay in each other’s lives and these lines can stay between us.  _

* * *

Riza does not scream when Roy burns her.

She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t whimper. Merely tenses up and suffers in silence while Roy uses the fire she gave him to harm her. 

They’re in her tiny inn bathroom, paid for by the military during their travels back to East City. Most of the other soldiers also staying at the inn are gone, enjoying a night out on the town before they continue their travels, which is why Roy and Riza are doing this now. Fewer people in the building are fewer people who might try to cajole Roy and Riza into joining them. Still, they’d locked themselves in the room’s bathroom with a small, staticky radio playing in the bedroom. An attempt to drown out any noise that Riza may potentially make as Roy burned her back. As it is, it’s more likely that Roy will be making the noise rather than Riza. 

Roy wants to scream. Wants to shout. Wants to cry. Riza won’t for whatever reason; for her own pride or, god forbid, to try and spare Roy any more guilt, so Roy wants to do it for her. If Riza won’t cry out during this, won’t rage at the unfairness of it all, then Roy wants to do it for her. 

Hurting her has always been a line that Roy is unwilling to cross. 

When he was a teenager learning alchemy and she was his friend, Roy had tried his best to never hurt her. He knew, to some degree, that it was inevitable when he was always going to leave her in the end. Still, he had tried to minimize that hurt, and even though it was inevitable, it was never  _ intentional _ . When they were slightly older and mourning together, he told himself that he would do whatever it took to keep from hurting her ever again. He offered her anything that he could give, anything that didn’t cross another line between them. And when she found him in the middle of a battle zone, in the middle of a bloodstained graveyard, he wanted nothing more than to shield her, to keep her from the pain of war. All the times he had fantasized about asking her to follow him, he had never wanted her to follow him straight into a world of hurt and pain.

Hurting her on accident, without mal intention and actively trying to lessen the hurt, even as it was happening, was something they could both forgive. He knew Riza held no ill will toward him for the hurt that befell her when he left her the first time, not even for the second time. Roy can’t think of a single time that Riza hurt him, but he would never begrudge her for it when it did happen. But more than anything, more than Roy cared for his own pain, he had never,  _ never _ wanted to cause Riza pain intentionally. And never with his alchemy. He has had nightmares before of hurting her with his flames, terrible nightmares that made him want to forget everything about alchemy.

Roy would take one thousand, one  _ million  _ burns before Riza ever had to take one. 

Yet here he is, standing at her back, her secrets, secrets that she’s entrusted him with, bared before him, and he’s hurting her. His right hand is gloved with the flame array that she allowed him to have, crossing lines of her own for his sake. His left hand is bare, held tight to her shoulder to keep her from moving, from jerking away, from shaking, and she’s shaking. She’s shaking, she’s shaking,  _ she’s shaking.  _

Riza might not be screaming or crying, but  _ she’s shaking.  _

Roy thinks he’s going to throw up. 

He only stops once the key parts of the array have been destroyed. Without the parts that he’s burned, the rest of the tattoo is useless, just a cacophony of lines and ink. Unintelligible even to him, who knows this array as well as he knows his own name. He’s done what Riza has asked of him. He’s destroyed her fathers’ work, he’s destroyed the key to his own power, he’s  _ destroyed Riza’s back.  _

He pulls away from her, his hand leaving her shoulder, even though he’s only able to take one small step back before he’s pressed against the wall. Riza is leaning heavily on the bathroom counter, her arms are shaking and she’s breathing deeply, likely in an attempt to try and keep her calm. Roy wants to reach out to her, to take some of her weight so she’s not straining herself anymore, wants to feel her pulse steadily beating under his fingertips, wants to help ease her pain,  _ wants wants wants _ . 

Roy Mustang wants a lot when it comes to Riza Hawkeye. 

He’s never wanted to hurt her, though. 

Surely, there are lines that can’t be crossed when it comes to how much pain one person can have? Surely, Riza has already been hurt enough by people she cares for without his doing as well? Surely, they should be allowed to have this one line between them? This line where they don’t hurt each other, never intentionally, and never like  _ this _ . But, this is yet another line between them that has been blurred, has been crossed, has been burned beyond recognition. Until there was no trace of there having been a line in the first place. 

The smell of burned flesh permeates his nose. It infiltrates his senses, made worse with the knowledge, the visual right in front of him, of it being Riza’s flesh that’s making that smell. His eyes burn-- no, they don’t burn, Riza burns-- his eyes  _ sting _ . His eyes are stinging, and Riza is still shaking, and they are still locked in this tiny inn bathroom. 

Okay. Roy needs to get a hold of himself and take care of Riza, try to lessen her pain as much as possible. He can wallow in his guilt later, but right now he needs to help her. Roy pulls off his remaining glove, stuffing it in his pocket, out of sight. He’ll be surprised if a day ever comes where he doesn’t look at his gloves and see flames dancing along Riza’s back. Gently, he places one hand back on her shoulder, the other at her waist. She doesn’t flinch, and Roy lets out a breath. 

“Let me help you to the bed,” Roy whispers. It feels wrong to speak louder when the silence has been so heavy. 

Riza allows him to help her without comment. She grasps the hand he offers tightly, letting him take some of her weight as she carefully leans into him. She doesn’t speak, and Roy notices that her jaw is clenched, so tight that he’s surprised he can’t hear her bones grinding against themselves. 

The journey to the bed takes both an eternity and a second. Realistically, it’s only a few feet from the bathroom door to the bedroom and then a few more to the bed. Riza sets the pace and he follows, her steps small but steady as she makes her way across the room. She eases herself down onto the bed, laying on her front so Roy can tend to her back. 

Between the two of them, they had managed to amass quite the arsenal of medical supplies for this purpose. Riza had been adamant against going to a hospital afterward, arguing that it would put too much scrutiny on him and would start rumors he’d never be able to fully refute, even with her on his side. Roy had reluctantly agreed, and looking at her back now, with its angry red skin, already blistered and bleeding, he wishes he had argued harder to get her proper medical care. 

The first noise Riza lets out is a sharp gasp when Roy lays a cool damp cloth, fabric baby soft because there was no way Roy was using a rough cloth on her after this, against the worst of the burns. The gasp makes Roy flinch back, and he’s glad that Riza’s eyes are clenched shut because tears that he’s been holding back since they started are now falling. 

Roy is distantly aware that he’s talking. Whispering reassurances and vaguely comforting words and apologies into the air between them. At some point, as more cloths and bandages covered in the evidence of Riza’s pain hit the floor, Roy’s words shift into whispered and ragged, “I’m sorry”s. He only stops when Riza speaks herself. 

“Stop apologizing,” she rasps, and Roy’s eyes snap to hers. Her eyes are half-closed, she looks exhausted, and her face is covered in a sheen of sweat. There is no evidence of tears on her cheeks. Roy’s face is tight from dried tracks on his. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers again. He doesn’t know what else to say to her. He’ll apologize for the rest of his life. 

“Stop apologizing,” she says again, firmer. “I asked you to do this. You did exactly as I asked. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s going to scar,” Roy says, and has to fight to keep his voice steady. He switches out another cloth for a clean one. Soon, once he’s satisfied that her skin has properly cooled down and the burns are clean, he’ll apply the burn cream and properly bandage them. 

“Good,” Riza replies, so solidly and assuredly that Roy freezes, staring into her eyes. There’s a fire there, strong and steady. Not like his fire, no. Riza’s fire has always been steadier than his, solid and true. Warm. “I don’t mind a few scars if it means I can live my life free.”

Roy doesn’t respond. Can’t. Because what can he say to that? The tattoos on Riza’s back have been a thing of pain to her since she got them. Have never been more than a chain around her neck, growing tighter each time Roy snapped his fingers and brought destruction. All Roy has done is cover one hurt with a different one.

“That’s what you’re giving me,” she continues. “You’re not giving me burns, or scars. You’re giving me a way to live my life how  _ I  _ chose it.”

“I wish I could have given you that without hurting you,” Roy says. “That is a line I never wanted to cross.”

Riza hesitates before answering. She won’t say he hasn’t hurt her. Riza has never lied to him before, and she’s not going to start now. It hurts. This is an indisputable fact. The sky is blue, the ocean is vast, and Roy Mustang has hurt Riza Hawkeye. 

“Well,” she finally says, after Roy has carefully and meticulously applied the burn cream, and is going about cutting appropriately sized bandages. “It seems we often cross lines that should be between us. Or maybe the lines are ever-changing.”

There is a song playing from the staticky radio in the corner of the room. The radio they were playing to drown out any noise from their actions tonight. The song is slow and melodic, a woman’s voice drifting from the speaker in what should be a comforting manner. If Roy focuses on the words being sung, he can hear that it’s a love song being played. One of the cheesy and classic ones that couples dance to under the moonlight without care. The kind of song that Roy can imagine dancing with Riza to in another life. A life where they don’t have to dance between rules and expectations and lines, but can just dance with each other. 

Yes, between the two of them, they’ve crossed plenty of their self-imposed lines. Sometimes barely, sometimes leaping, and always knowingly. They have never crossed a line between them in unawares. Every line between the two of them is crossed just as carefully as it is crafted. Even this line that Roy has crossed more fully than he had ever feared had been planned meticulously, far in advance. Necessary, but made even more painful by the thought of treating hurting Riza as something to  _ plan.  _

Roy wonders if they will ever stop this game of lines they are playing. If one of them will ever tire of the gymnastics they must perform with each other. The lines between them are more important than ever and more difficult to stay behind than ever. 

Roy can’t imagine a world where they don’t have to keep to the lines between them. That won’t stop him from hoping for one, though. One of his more foolish desires, certainly, but it is one he thinks Riza at least deserves. Riza Hawkeye deserves more from life than hushed and whispered almost confessions and being forced to hide, to lie, to keep to lines. __

* * *

Being adjutant and bodyguard to one Colonel Roy Mustang is a life that First Lieutenant Riza Hawkey had never dreamed of for herself. When she was a young girl, and simply being in close proximity to Roy Mustang made her believe she could have more from life, and involving  _ him _ specifically, she never would have thought this would be the  _ more  _ she got. 

It’s been years since that day she walked into his office to give him her transfer papers, to give him all of her. A truly astounding amount of years, considering how many life or death situations they get into. Following the Colonel through every move, every transfer, every promotion, every scandal. Always right beside him like a reliable firearm. One would think that as the years have passed that Riza would have dealing with him down to a science. 

One would be wrong. 

It seems, every time Riza becomes comfortable and stable with one aspect of their relationship as it has come to be, the Colonel pulls out some new tactic seemingly with the sole intention of pushing her buttons. Once she has his morning routine memorized and mapped out, he changes something. Once she finds a subject of paperwork he is willing to do with minimal complaining, he spends all day counting pens. Once she becomes used to how many hours he spends in his office, he will start leaving early or staying late. 

“Change is good, Lieutenant,” the Colonel says, pushing a stack of paperwork away from him and standing. “Routine is dangerous, especially for someone as notorious as I am.”

“Yes, sir, for something like your route home from work, or what grocery store you frequent,” Riza says through a clenched jaw. “ _ Not  _ for how much work you get done in a week.”

“Yes, well. Variety is the spice of life, and all that.”

It’s terribly frustrating. It’s trying, it’s annoying, it’s childish, it’s-it’s-it’s-

It’s so  _ him _ it makes Riza want to scream. It reminds her terribly of his time studying under her father, how he would slack off and procrastinate just to spend time with her. It makes her nostalgic for things she should not be nostalgic for. For things she never should have let herself want in the first place, let alone  _ now _ . It is so much more important to not want them now. 

Riza supposes that this manufactured coldness and -at times- hostility between them is for the best. It keeps certain eyes off them, eyes that are looking for something that  _ is  _ there, boiling just under the surface, but never to breach. The Colonel’s seeming inability to ever perform to her standards and Riza constantly being frustrated with him is as good a cover as any. Nevermind that Riza often finds his antics amusing, seeing as they  _ are  _ just antics, and she more often than not has to pull him away from the work. 

Occasionally, during their late nights of working towards their goals, Riza will be hit by a sense of longing, so all-encompassing she nearly lets it show. These instances don’t come as often anymore, no. Instead, it is more of a constant ache in her chest, like a missing piece. But when those bouts of longing hit, Riza leaves him just slightly more reluctantly to go to her own home, alone. She lays in bed in the dead of night, and lets her heart desire, for just a moment. It fades, it always does, and in the morning, she is back to following every line between them, no matter how small.

_ Lines _ , Riza reminds herself. There are more lines now than ever before. And not just self-imposed lines, though she has those in spades as well, but  _ actual laws _ . The anti-fraternization laws are alive and well and no one ever survives them once accused of abusing them. The Colonel already has a reputation as a flirt and womanizer, Riza cannot for a second show any ounce of weakness, any trace of wanting. It is not like when they were teenagers, when it was just a risque thought, to want her fathers’ apprentice. No, now it is taboo. Likely to get Riza court-martialed at least and the Colonel fired at best. 

If there is one thing that Amestris has done that is not terrible, it is that those who abuse the anti-fraternization laws, those who take advantage of their subordinates, do not get treated with any amount of respect. Riza has seen men and women who rank far higher than the Colonel, with far better connections than the Colonel, crash and burn because they wanted the wrong person. 

Riza wants Roy Mustang. She knows he wants her too. But they want to achieve their goal more. They want change; good, meaningful,  _ important  _ change, more. Their wants do not matter, their desires do not matter. The lines matter, the rules matter. There is a game being played here, one that Riza and Roy have been playing for far longer than anyone else. They are experts in following lines. They are also experts in hiding when they have been crossed, even if they haven’t so much as toed a line in years, too cautious to risk it.

It’s more dangerous now, to toe their lines. There are too many people watching, waiting with bated breath for Roy to misstep, to stumble. Too many eyes on them. Now that Roy is the youngest to be promoted Colonel and shows no signs of slowing down. Now that Roy has a skilled and loyal team permanently under his command. Now that Roy has somehow managed to recruit and keep the youngest and most talented alchemist Amestris has seen in Edward Elric. Now that there is talk of Roy possibly getting transferred to Central Command Center, the place people go climbing ever higher in the ranks. 

Roy Mustang has always had eyes on him. When he was a child being brought up in a brothel. When he was a teenager learning alchemy from a man renowned for keeping his secrets. When he became the first-ever alchemist to successfully harness flame alchemy, the first to  _ master _ it. And now as a young man, ambitious as anything with a desire to climb the ranks as high as they will take him. He has more eyes than ever trained on his every move, ears tuned to his every word.

Riza Hawkeye has almost never had eyes on her. Not when she was a little girl living with her mother and father. Not when she showed no promise for alchemy and her father becam e disinterested. Not when she was a teenager and kept only to herself. She had some eyes on her during the war, when she became the best sniper there. But even then, she was still a soldier fresh from the academy, so she was mostly free from the constant supervision. As The Flame Alchemist’s bodyguard and adjutant, Riza has grown used to having some eyes on her. She knows she is interesting, that she is valuable to watch and keep track of.

It is lucky, then, that while Riza was being looked over and Roy was being looked at, Riza learned to see far more than everyone else. Lucky, that a sniper’s best skill is their ability to stay hidden and  _ see.  _

Be that as it may, all Riza  _ sees _ right now is a growing stack of paperwork as the Colonel spends the day doing anything  _ but _ his work.

She’s known since the morning started, of course, that he would not get any work done today. When Riza had picked him up this morning, the shadows under his eyes had been deep and dark, clearly having built up as the weeks have progressed. Riza knows he’s been working harder than ever before recently, what with the increasingly troubling reports Edward is bringing back from his travels, the recent appearance of a serial killer with a taste for State Alchemists, and the ever-looming possibility of a transfer to Central, Roy has been spreading himself rather thin. 

Riza had allowed him, rather generously, she thinks, to spend his morning napping while she dutifully guarded the door. It  _ was _ Friday, after all, and since she knew he would be spending the weekend corresponding with Maes and his intelligence network to discover any new information about their mysterious new killer, she had approved of him getting some sleep. 

Now, however, it was past lunch, only a few hours left in the workday, and Roy had yet to sign a single paper. The rest of the team had been casting glances at Riza since they had returned to see when she would break. Havoc had placed his bet for half an hour after lunch, and while Riza had been tempted as soon as they returned to the office, she had held out for an hour so Fuery could take the bet and get the new parts he needed for a personal project. 

Never let it be said that Riza Hawkeye was not a benevolent First Lieutenant. 

Once the hour was up and Fuery could rightfully claim his prize, Riza had stood, arms laden with more paperwork to pass over, and entered the Colonel’s office. She had made sure to enter quietly, not giving herself away. It always gave Riza a sense of satisfaction to enter his office without his noticing. The jump he never failed to conceal when he finally noticed her was even better. 

Currently, Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, and notorious war hero, was balancing with the front legs of his chair in the air while also attempting to balance a pen on the tip of his nose. 

_ Deep breaths, Riza, _ she tells herself.  _ Deep breaths and calm. If he sees that he’s annoyed you, he wins. If he sees that you are unimpressed, you win.  _ Riza closes her eyes and counts down from ten as slowly as she can make herself. When she opens her eyes again, she notices that Roy has gone cross-eyed trying to keep sight of the pen on his nose. He has not noticed her yet. 

Carefully, Riza moves to stand in front of his desk, mere feet from him. She waits until his balancing looks solid and the pen stops swaying to clear her throat. 

Roy startles so badly that multiple things fall to the floor, himself included. His chair falls from under him, sending him crashing down. On his way, his arms flail, knocking a cup of pens, a jar of ink, and a stack of papers to scatter around the office. Roy’s fingers instinctually come up to snap, but instead of fire rushing towards her, she is only met with a rather pathetic snap of fingers. It seems he had never replaced his gloves after eating lunch. Tragic. 

Roy’s head pops up from behind his desk, his hair in disarray, and face a wealth of shock. Riza spares a second to question why this is the man that she is so willing to cross all the lines in the world for. She tells herself that this is part of his charm, and really, it’s unfair that even half dead from sleep deprivation and looking like a disgruntled mess, Riza would still follow him into hell. She watches him push the hair from his eyes, only for it to fall right back, and for a brief moment her chest aches sharply. She pushes it firmly away and clears her throat again.

“Sir,” she says in as monotone a voice as she can manage.

“Lieutenant,” Roy says standing, and, trying to muster as much dignity as he can, brushes off and straightens his uniform. “Something you needed? I’m rather busy, as you can see.”

Riza very pointedly looks from his still upturned chair, to the ink spilling down his desk, to the papers and pens covering the floor, and back to him. She raises a single eyebrow. Roy manages to keep a straight face himself, tilting his chin up at her, daring her to say that she just witnessed her commanding officer acting like a teenager.

“I can see that, yes, sir,” Riza will not rise to his bait. Carefully avoiding the puddle of ink, Riza sets down the new stack of papers. She can see the despair in his eyes. She only feels a little bad about it. “I’m just bringing in some more things that require your attention.”

Roy sighs, loudly and dramatically, and far too honestly for the command center. He rights his chair and begins cleaning the ink from his desk. Riza kneels down to begin gathering the overturned papers and pens. As she gathers them, she tries to sort them into some semblance of order. Some of this, she’s sure, can be pushed until Monday. She doesn’t notice that Roy has kneeled next to her until his hand is on top of hers, stopping her from grabbing another paper.

“There’s no need to clean up my mess, Lieutenant,” he says softly. “I can manage just fine on my own.”

“Lucky for you then, that I will always be here to help clean up after you,” Riza responds just as softly and sincerely. 

Fuery swept the office just this morning for bugs. A standard protocol for whenever one of them is due to return from a mission and report, and Edward is due back any day now from the mess in Liore. It’s best that there are no bugs in the office when he makes his report, especially if rumors of the fight he encountered hold any grain of truth. 

This whispered conversation between them should be safe. Another line being toed, but they are old hats at this. Roy’s hand squeezes hers for just a moment before he releases it, moving to pick up the paper closest to him. 

“I am indeed very lucky to have you by my side, Lieutenant. Heavens know you could find a much better commanding officer than me.” 

Roy does not meet her eyes, not even close, but his words hit her like a shot to the chest. The ever-present ache burns bright and harsh for the second time that day. Wants and desires and burning hot  _ needs _ and rules and  _ lines. Lines lines lines. _ Take a breath, regroup, stick to the lines.

Riza takes the papers from him, grazing her fingertips along the soft skin of the back of his hand. She sorts them carefully with the ones she is already holding. Roy leaves the papers to her, moving on to pick up the pens. 

“Lucky for me then, that I am perfectly happy with my team as is. No need to go looking for a new one.”

Roy looks at her, eyes burning, shining, with his own wants and desires. Written clearly across his face for only Riza to see. He allows himself one moment of it before he too locks it away tight.

They work together in silence as they finish. Roy straightens the rest of the mess on his desk and Riza continues to sort through his paperwork. She hands him a relatively small stack, and he dutifully sits down and proceeds to read through them, signing when necessary. Riza organizes the rest of his papers into what is most urgent. A lot of it really does need to be dealt with quickly, but some can wait. 

“Do attempt to get some meaningful rest this weekend, Colonel. I don’t want to find you napping on the job again next week,” Riza says as she prepares to leave his office and go back to her desk. 

“I will certainly make an attempt, Lieutenant.”

Roy does not look up as she exits, and Riza does not look back. For a brief moment in that enclosed office, she was Riza and he was Roy. Now, she is back to being First Lieutenant Hawkeye, and he Colonel Mustang. Firmly back behind their rules and lines, any hints of want or desire locked away once again. 

This is enough. Stolen moments, cautious whispers, coded confessions, staying behind lines. It is enough. It has to be. 

* * *

The water for Riza’s tea has just come up to temperature when the storm knocks out her power. 

From her hallway, she can hear Roy cursing, likely because no matter how much time he spends in her home, he always manages to run into  _ something _ , even in full light. She just hopes he hasn’t knocked anything over this time. Hayate is barking, likely hovering around Roy’s feet and making moving all the more difficult. She sighs as she carefully switches off the stovetop and moves the teapot to the counter. She knows she has a candle around here somewhere, she just has to find it. If she’s remembering correctly, she last placed it on her kitchen island to mask the scent of a recipe gone wrong. 

Valiantly ignoring Roy’s increasingly louder- and closer- cursing, Riza finds her candle along with the box of matches that is luckily right beside it. She strikes a match and lights the candle just as Roy fumbles his way into the kitchen.

“Damn storm,” he mumbles. “It’s already hard enough to navigate your place, how am I supposed to do it in the dark?”

“The same way you do in the light.”

The rain had been beating down steadily for the majority of the day, ruining any plans the weekend may have held for leaving the house. It had picked up as the night neared, going from just rain to a full thunderstorm. Roy had come over early this morning to review some final plans for his next meeting with General Hakuro and Fuhrer Grumman, and as the rain picked up he just didn’t leave. In all fairness, Riza probably wouldn’t have let him, even in peacetime, she was reluctant to let him travel anywhere without her, especially in the rain. 

The two of them had been working in relaxing silence for the rest of the day, only pausing for lunch and dinner. Working in companionable silence with Roy always soothed a part of Riza’s soul that she hadn’t noticed needed soothing. It was calm and gentle and easy, nothing like their lives outside. Here in the safety of one of their homes, they could just be. It was a luxury not often offered them, and even when it was offered they didn’t always act on it. 

The rain seemed to offer an extra layer of protection though. The steady tapping of rain hitting the roof, the occasional roar of thunder, and now the darkness of a power outage gave Riza a sense of security she didn’t regularly feel. It almost reminded her of when they were younger, spending time in her family’s kitchen and learning how to blur the lines between them. 

“It’s nearly impossible to do in the light as well,” Roy’s voice breaks her from her reminiscing, reminding her of her task at hand. “You have so much stuff. How do you have so much stuff?”

Riza just rolls her eyes, going back to grab her teapot and mug. Roy knows good and well that the majority of things in here are his, are things he doesn’t want to keep in his home in case someone breaks in looking for information. The amount of alchemy notes that Riza is in possession of is frankly ridiculous, seeing as she has absolutely no alchemical ability. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, preparing her own rather than rising to his bait.

“I suppose so,” Roy moves over to a cabinet, pulling out a mug that has become unequivocally his as the years have passed. It’s dark red and chipped on the side, with no notable design or pattern. Riza had bought it on a whim one day after deciding that she was fed up with all her cutlery being a boring white. Every time Roy has visited since he picks that mug to use. 

“Shall I go hunt down some more candles?” Roy asks as she pours his tea. “Surely there are more?”

Riza hums, thinking of where they might be. She keeps some candles handy just for this reason, so they shouldn’t be far. “There should be some in the living room. Maybe one in the bedroom. Would you like to take this one with you while I finish in here?”

“You wound me, Riza,” and even without looking at him she can hear the smirk in his voice. Riza looks up at him anyway. She’s always had a soft spot for that smirk. True to form, Roy’s mouth is turned up at one corner, just barely. It’s hard to see in the flickering light from just one candle, but Riza sees clearly that his eyes are alight with mischief. Riza knows better than to indulge him, but she can’t help it. She raises her eyebrows and gives him a questioning look. 

Roy’s smirk turns into a satisfied smile. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out a single glove, which he puts on. He snaps and a tiny flame fits itself in the palm of his hand, not much larger than the flame of the candle in front of them. Riza wouldn’t be surprised if he had found his coat and taken out his gloves, fumbling in the dark, purely for this stunt. 

“I myself am as good as any candle. Even better, if I do say so myself.”

For one heart-stopping moment, Riza is speechless. The longer she stares at him in open-mouthed shock, the bigger his grin becomes.

“Did you just compare yourself to a candle?” she asks at last. Roy’s smile dims.

“Technically I said I was better than a candle.”

“Never change, Roy, you are far too entertaining. Now go find the rest of the candles and light them in the living room, please,” at this point Riza is trying to hold back laughter. Roy’s smile is softer as he watches her, and it also wouldn’t surprise Riza if he did this with the sole intention of making her laugh. Yes, this is the man she will so readily cross lines for.

“As you wish,” and with that Roy leaves Riza to her own devices in the kitchen while he tends to adequately lighting the living room. 

Riza putters around her kitchen, having no trouble navigating the dark. She finishes making their tea and sets the pot back on the stove, out of the way. Riza wonders how long the power will be out, and if she will have to worry about the perishables in her refrigerator. Really, she’s worried about the ice cream she had purchased recently, and if it will melt with the power out. Riza decides she doesn’t want to risk it, and what better time than now to indulge in it, when she is already indulging in so much else.

Riza snags it from the freezer quickly so much cold doesn’t escape. She’s grabbing two spoons from the drawer when Roy makes his way back into the kitchen, the small flame still licking at his palm. 

“Would you like me to carry anything?”

“Hm, you can take the candle and your mug. That is, if you don’t mind extinguishing yourself?”

“Of course.” Roy lets his own flame go out, and rather than keep the glove on, tucks it away into his pocket. He takes both his mug and the candle, a fond smile taking over his face when he catches sight of her treat but he says nothing. 

Roy leads them back to the living room, which has indeed been bathed in candlelight courtesy of every candle she owns. The room is awash in a warm orange glow, shadows that were once menacing but are now benign dance along the walls and floorboards. Roy has lit a small fire in the fireplace, giving the room significantly more light as well as some much-needed warmth.

He sets the candle he’s holding on the coffee table in front of the sofa, before slowly lowering himself down, careful to not spill his tea. Riza folds herself down in the opposite corner, placing the ice cream on the cushion between them and handing him a spoon. 

“Is the ice cream a trick to get me to do paperwork without complaint?” Roy asks, making a face at the stack of paperwork he still has to do. It’s really not that much. If he put his mind to it he could finish in an hour or so. 

“If you finish it now, you get to spend your Sunday free of paperwork,” Riza offers. Roy sighs, takes a bite of the ice cream, then a sip of his tea, and pulls his paperwork back into his lap. Riza does the same, though with noticeably less dramatics.

They work together in silence until their mugs are empty, placed haphazardly on the floor, and the empty tub of ice cream is shoved on the table. The silence between them is easy, comfortable. Working with Roy like this always manages to settle her, regardless of how dour the words on the papers can be. Makes her feel warm and pleasant. Riza finishes her own paperwork, sets that aside much more carefully and securely on a stack of books next to the sofa. Roy is still working through his but will be done soon by the looks of it. 

Riza stretches as she relaxes into the cushions, her back popping satisfyingly. Roy’s eyes track her as she moves, and that too makes something warm settle in her. She curls up on the sofa, drawing her legs up and settling more deeply into the corner. She ends up angled towards Roy and rests her head on the back of the sofa, simply watching him. Roy tears his gaze from hers, turning back to the last of his paperwork. Riza can’t help but notice that his signature is much more rushed than before.

Riza feels pleasantly warm and tired as she sits here. The rain hitting the roof has taken on a melodic tone, the lightning and thunder having stopped sometime while they were working. The glow of the candlelight is easy on her eyes, relaxing her much more than lamplight would. Her view isn’t too bad either.

Riza has always thought that Roy looks like a dream in candlelight. She remembers thinking it when she was a young girl in her kitchen, overwhelmed by everything that was  _ Roy Mustang _ . She has thought it every time she has seen him in similar lighting since. The light dances across him as if it can’t decide where to settle, what part of him to highlight. It dances across his face and enhances his features, playing off the contours and dimples of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the little furrow between his brows. When he looks at her head-on, she can see the flames reflected in his eyes, such a deep blue they’re almost black. It seems like in the candlelight any and every emotion can be clearly seen in his eyes. Riza has always loved his eyes, how they shine, how expressive they are, how she can always read them.

Like now, he is looking at her, having set aside any trace of work and moved closer to her, his legs pressed warmly against hers. He is looking at her, and Riza sees so much in his eyes. She sees what feels wonderfully like reverence, like love. She knows the same is reflected in her own eyes.

“You are positively beautiful in the candlelight, Riza. Have I ever told you that?” Roy breathes the words out, and they flow over her skin like the most breathtaking caress.

“I would certainly remember if you had.”

“You are. The light flickers across you like it wants to touch all of you. Like it can’t decide where to stay. It makes your hair look like spun gold, and your skin like porcelain. Not breakable, though, no. You look powerful. Ethereal. And your eyes, they’re stunning, so full of life and everything that you are. If the last thing in the world I saw was your eyes, how they look now, I’d die a happy man.”

Riza has never been the best at returning his words like that, not gifted with the talent like he was. And she has never had to be, Roy knows exactly how she feels, what she would say if she could. What Riza does is action.

Riza leans closer to him, and Roy meets her halfway, their foreheads pressed together. Riza does not take her eyes from him, and Roy does not take his from her.

The lines don’t seem to exist here and now. Logically Riza knows the lines are still there, they have never left. But here and now it feels like they are in a bubble of just them. Just the two of them, Roy and Riza, with nothing between them. No expectations, no eyes on them, no chasm of lines keeping them apart. Here and now, they can just  _ be _ . Riza feels at peace, the ache in her chest soothed and healed over with Roy so close to her, so at ease himself. There are no burning desires here, straining to be heard, to be felt. Any desires between them are being met in full right now.

Times where they can have this makes the times without it so worth it. This time is all the sweeter, all the more meaningful because it is so rare. This time without lines, where the lines can be blurred, can be crossed, can be forgotten. Here she can love and not be afraid. 

When the weekend is over, when the rain has passed, when they leave this little bubble of themselves, everything will go back. They will be General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye, fighting for change, advocating for the future. There will be lines between them, too many to count. Lines that will keep them apart, that they will have to keep behind until another time like this arises. 

It will be painful, it always is when they give in a take away the lines only to replace them again. It will ache, and hurt, and try to consume them. Their wants that they expressed so easily will go back to being desires they can only acknowledge in the dead of night. Their wants will go back to being kept locked tightly away, and it will hurt. But the pain will fade, it always does. And they will once again have the lines between them.

But for now, Riza will indulge, will bare herself open and be met with equal honesty, and it will make it all worth it. 

Roy reaches over to her, across the scant inches still between them, hand finding hers like it is an extension of his own body. His fingers hook around hers, and Riza easily returns the hold. 

Their hands rest on Roy’s thigh, intertwined and interlocked. Woven together like one. Riza lets herself smile, as easy as breathing, and there is a matching smile on Roy’s face.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! As always, here are some links to various things happening in the world, and stay safe! :)
> 
> Black Lives Matter petitions, donations, and other resources [here](https://t.co/ScNVY4VxD2?amp=1)   
> If you can’t donate, [here’s](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlhfJSrlPNthnoD1XFDHzmdf6Mpt2pe-2&feature=share) a youtube playlist where all the proceeds from the videos are being donated to BLM charities   
> Yemen Crisis Links [here](https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/)   
> Helping Lebanon Links [here](https://helplebanon.carrd.co/)  
> COVID-19 and others (US specific): [here](https://www.acf.hhs.gov/otip/news/covid-19-resources-services-support)
> 
> [Here’s](https://rejectscanon.tumblr.com/) my tumblr if you want to peruse and enjoy


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